FOR the last time I kissed
The lips of my dearest son,
For the last time looked in his face—
My brave, my beautiful one.
Reaching up to his breast,
But lately as low as my knee,
I felt with my hands in his heart
A shadow I might not see.
Scarce could I bid him farewell,
Scarce to bless him find breath,
For I felt the shape of the shade
And knew 'twas the shadow of death.